


Charismatic

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel has Feren bind Meludir’s wrists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charismatic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Feren’s usually given passive duties. He tends to stand watch or deliver messages, though he’s as skilled with a weapon as any elf under King Thranduil’s reign. Today, he’s given a special assignment. Tauriel, captain of the guards, guides him down into the dungeons, right in front of a small cell with a cute elf standing just inside the open bars. The elf smiles in greeting, and Feren, as usual, has to forcibly turn himself away: Meludir’s grins are entirely too saccharine and threaten to suck him in every time.

He looks back to Tauriel, and she stuffs a length of black rope into Feren’s hands, explaining, “We need to ensure that our cells are more secure. This will require the testing of new measures. Yours is a newly crafted rope, designed to be unbreakable by natural strength but soft enough not to harm a prisoner. You will test it on Meludir.” Feren’s eyes dart from his hand to hers, eyebrows lifting, but she’s already turned away. Doubtless she has many other methods to test, far more important than a simple length of rope. 

Feren barely has time to answer, “Yes, Captain,” before she’s out of earshot, down the narrow path and around the carved rock. It leaves Feren to turn to Meludir, who smiles again, as he so often does whenever he’s given the slightest attention. Feren stands blankly in place, until Meludir pushes the bars wider open, like beckoning Feren inside. 

Feren takes a glance around, but the rest of the dungeons are empty. He disappears into the near-darkness of the cell, and Meludir brings his hands forward, fingers curled loosely against his palms and wrists held up, as though in offering. He asks in his melodic voice, “How do you want me?”

On the floor of the cell, back in the shadows where no one can see, if Feren’s being perfectly honest. Most of the men Feren works with are attractive, but Meludir is particularly so, still soft from youth and lit with too much mirth, his eyes always bearing happiness. His honey-red hair is swept back over his shoulders, but a few stray strands cascade down the front, straight and silky. He stands slightly shorter than Feren, lithe with thinner shoulders and tighter robes. The thought of him at Feren’s mercy is... indecently appealing. 

Feren does his best to stomp it down and mutter, “This will do.” He lifts the rope to Meludir’s frail wrists, drawing them together. The rope flows like ribbon along them, and the darkness makes Meludir’s skin look particularly pale and creamy: an elegant contrast. Feren binds them tightly together. 

Then he lifts them above Meludir’s head and marches forward, backing Meludir up until he’s against the bars. With one hand, Feren drags the door closed, listening for the telltale click, and with the other, he holds Meludir squarely against a bar. He then lifts to tie the rope above Meludir’s head, fastening him to them. 

When Feren’s finished, he doesn’t want to pull away. He enjoys the careful touch, Meludir’s skin even softer than the ribbon, but he’s run out of excuses and has to pull back. Already guilty over how tight he tied it, he asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Meludir answers, glancing prettily up at his bonds. “I don’t mind it. It’s quite comfortable actually.” He doesn’t mind being tied up. It’s an interesting phrase that Feren misinterprets and eagerly files away. 

He orders bluntly, “Struggle.”

Meludir obeys. He begins to squirm, biting his lip in concentration and staring up through his thick lashes, while his arms tug taut. When the ropes refuse to budge, Meludir struggles harder, jerking rapidly but still getting nowhere. He arches his body up, tossing his head back and trying to yank his entire chest forward, but he’s held firm. A sharp keening noise escapes his throat, and he fidgets, writhing wantonly against the bars. 

Feren can feel his body react. His crotch stirs, and he’s inordinately grateful that his long tunic covers his lap. It isn’t supposed to be an erotic display, of course, but Meludir is just so unbearably _cute_ that watching him squirm, bound and vulnerable, becomes a sensual show. Every movement of his is graceful, and the harder he writhes the more noises tumble out of his lips, determined huffs and frazzled whines, irritated whimpers and strained gasps. Feren tries to eye Meludir’s wrists, watching for bruises, but he’s continually drawn instead to Meludir’s face, which flushes more and more from exertion the worse his struggling becomes. 

Finally, he stops, breathing hard. He gives one last tug, but the ropes haven’t budged in the slightest. He slumps, his hands falling back behind his head, arms bent at the elbows, and he mewls sweetly, “I suppose I’m your prisoner permanently.”

Feren quickly steps forward to untie the rope. He’s as efficient as he can, mindful of Meludir’s warm body; he doesn’t want to take advantage. As soon as the rope’s loose, Meludir lowers his arms to rub at his wrists, and Feren decides, “That’s enough.”

An uncharacteristic frown takes Meludir’s fair features. “Shouldn’t we try other positions?”

Feren _stares_ at him. Meludir’s confusion melts into a sheepish smile, brows drawn together and shoulders shrugging. He’s too adorable, too young, too innocent, for a dirty man like Feren. 

Feren hollowly announces, “No,” and wrenches the bars open. Meludir blinks in surprise but doesn’t have a chance to say anymore. Feren storms off to see if Galion has any wine left: he’ll need it.


End file.
